Pomp and Circumstance
by SometimeSelkie
Summary: It's Neville's last term at Hogwarts. School is demanding, but even classes aren't as complicated as his relationship with Pansy Parkinson. Meanwhile, Voldemort was vanquished around Christmas and Nature abhors a vacuum. Sequel to Walking Wounded, postHBP
1. En Route

A/N: "Walking Wounded" isn't required reading for this, but it is the direct prologue of "Pomp and Circumstance", and information from it will be doled out on a need-to-know basis (and another character's perspective). These, in turn, are part of a larger story arc I call the Trickverse. See my profile for details.

**Chapter One: En Route**

Neville Longbottom leaned his forehead against the cold window of his compartment on the Hogwarts Express and watched her say goodbye to her parents. Her back was to him and all he could see of her was her shiny dark hair with its sharp edges and her fashionable plum robes that accented her slight figure. Even in school robes, she looked noticeably better than any other girl.

Okay, maybe he was a bit biased.

Pansy Parkinson turned away from her parents, waving gaily over her shoulder, and left her younger sister to say her goodbyes. Neville quickly faced the interior of the compartment, hoping that she hadn't seen him watching her. _Be cool._ He wanted to start the term off as the bloke she'd snogged in the greenhouse or the warrior she'd welcomed back from the final battle, not the awkward student who'd watched her from afar and endured her endless scorn. He'd owled her three times over break, making sure to keep the tone of his letters casual, and received two rather noncommittal responses. He hadn't been too daunted – he wasn't very good at putting his thoughts on paper either and spoke mostly of how his holidays were going and that he'd see her back at school. In his last letter, he'd asked if she wanted to meet up on the Express, but he hadn't gotten a reply. It took a while for her responses to get back to him, but he was pretty sure he'd sent it early enough that she would've received it.

He drummed his fingers on the upholstery of his seat, trying to look casual and confident. She'd be here any time now. _Hey Pansy, you got my letter?_ Too clingy. _Pansy! You look really nice_. Hmm…better not offer an unsolicited opinion. _Good to see you, Pansy. I've missed you._ She'd take that and run with it. _Did your hols go well?_ Better. The catch to the compartment door slid back with an audible click and Neville tensed, then looked up slowly.

"Does your back hurt, Neville?" Luna Lovegood asked, stepping into the compartment. "You're sitting strangely."

"No," he said, giving up on looking relaxed and cool. The plan was already going wrong. Neville wasn't much of a plotter by nature. When imagining this day, he'd always skipped straight to himself and Pansy ensconced in a frosty compartment, murmuring to each other over treats from the trolley. He had never entertained the perfectly plausible possibility that his friends would seek him out and join him. Luna had already settled in, and he wouldn't ask her to leave in any case, so he set his mind to the difficult problem of how to debrief his friend on the upcoming situation. "Good holiday?" he asked in the meantime.

"Finland was wonderful!" Luna bubbled. "And we got so close to a Crumple-Horned Snorkack once, too – we saw the tracks and everything – but then a storm took up, that's the way it is up there, and blew them away."

"Pity," Neville murmured sympathetically. "Listen, Luna, I want you to know that Pansy Parkinson might come sit with us for the ride."

Luna wrinkled her nose delicately. "I hope not. She's not very nice."

Neville had thought that at one point, too, but that was before he realised that Pansy probably just didn't know _how_ to be nice and needed someone to teach her. This was the hard part. With all of the excitement surrounding war preparations last semester, he had neglected to tell anyone about his involvement with Pansy. He hadn't been looking forward to confiding in anyone either, knowing the common prejudices against Slytherins. The time had come, though, and Neville reasoned that things could be a lot worse; Luna was the least judgmental of his friends. "Well, I – you'd best not mention this to anyone for now, just in case –"

Luna leaned forward, her grey eyes sparkling conspiratorially. "It's the Blartfasts, isn't it? I always suspected, you know. Don't worry, I have an extra amulet with me."

"Er, no, that's not it. I, uh, I like her."

She looked very solemn. "I'm giving the amulet to you," she decided, reaching into her bag.

"Don't tell anyone yet, okay?" he begged her. "I think people will take it better once they find out how nice she can be." Maybe it was a good thing he and Pansy weren't going to be alone. This way, it would become apparent that Pansy wasn't the incarnation of nastiness people thought she was.

"I guess," Luna began reluctantly, but Neville never found out what she was about to say as the latch on the door was thrown back once again. "Hello, Ginny!"

Ginny Weasley swept into the compartment. "Ready to go back?" she asked brightly, plopping down next to Neville. "Hols felt never-ending this year." She turned to Luna. "I'll bet they flew by for you."

"Oh yes," Luna sighed, and the door opened once more to admit Dean Thomas. As Luna began to recount her adventures in greater detail, Neville caught a glimpse of Pansy in the hallway. She was with Daphne Greengrass and strode purposefully by, not even sparing a glance into Neville's compartment.

He saw her again on the way into the castle, flanked by her usual posse, but she didn't see him. Oddly enough, it was Blaise Zabini who looked Neville up and down as they passed and raised his eyebrows sardonically. Neville had a nagging feeling that Zabini knew something he didn't, but was simultaneously comforted by the fact that the last time the two of them had been in such a position, the Slytherin had taken him aside and shared the information at his earliest convenience. He fervently hoped that Zabini would approach him sooner rather than later.


	2. Nothing But Facts

**Chapter Two: Nothing But Facts**

The next morning found Neville at the Gryffindor table, reading the latest edition of _The Quibbler_ over toast. He was a _Quibbler_ man through and through ever since the shameful coverage of Voldemort's return by the _Daily Prophet_ in fifth year and now refused to read anything else. Resources and staff for _The Quibbler_ had shot up since the infamous Harry Potter interview had been published, and even journalistic quality was improving slowly over time.

_FENRIR GREYBACK SENDS HOWLER TO DOLORES UMBRIDGE?_

_Staff and visitors at the Ministry of Magic were subjected to a loud, unidentified disturbance orriginating from the Department of Magical Creature Resource Management occurring at approximately 10:00 a.m. on Wednesday morning. Ministry officials explained to its confused denizens that the noise was the result of a work crew finishing a phase of renovations in the rapidly-expanding department._

_BUT WAS IT?_ (Despite everything, the tone of _The Quibbler_ hadn't changed much.)

_An anonymous low-level Ministry employee confides to _The Quibbler_ that the noise was actually the result of a poorly-concealed Howler from none other than Fenrir Greyback, the notorious werewolf, to Dolores Umbridge, Minister of Magical Creature Resource Management. Madame Umbridge has been hard at work lately drafting revisions to her seminal anti-werewolf legislation, which are expected to be completed sometime this week. Our anonymous source was in Madame Umbridge's outer office when the Howler was deployed. "It was definitely from Greyback, and he was definitely angry. He threatened werewolf resistance action if the revised legislation goes into effect, and stated very clearly that he is not above terrorist acts."_

Greyback was a suspected Death Eater under He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named and remains at large. Rumours have abounded in recent weeks that Greyback is attempting to organize all magical creatures, werewolves in particular, under a common banner against what he deems to be oppressive edicts of the Ministry. Representatives of the Department of Magical Creature Resource Management refused to comment for this story.

"Incredible!" Hermione Granger cried from her seat across from him, shaking her head at the _Daily Prophet_. "What are they _thinking_? The goblins won't stand for that kind of interference!"

A delivery owl swooped over the table and dropped a package in front of Ginny. She tore it open with an expression of mild curiosity to reveal a posy of stately purple flowers. From where Neville sat, he could barely hear sound emanating from the blossoms, sweet and clear. "Sighing irises!" he exclaimed in surprise. "I've never seen them before!"

"Who gave them to you?" Andrea Sandmeyer, a sixth-year, asked as Ginny opened a piece of accompanying parchment. "A secret admirer?"

Ginny folded the parchment calmly. Neville noticed that her cheeks were suffused with colour that hadn't been there a moment ago. "No," she answered. She gathered up the flowers and left the table without another word, not meeting anyone's eye.

"Who could possibly be that insensitive?" Hermione breathed as Ginny disappeared from the Great Hall.

"What do you mean?" Neville asked, confused.

"Harry's only been…gone…for a month," she hissed under her breath. "And he could get better at any time."

Harry Potter was in the long-term spell damage ward at St. Mungo's from injuries sustained during the final battle. Neville had seen him fall, but the current condition of the Boy Who Lived was closely guarded. "But Ginny said it wasn't a secret admirer."

"Oh, Neville, isn't it obvious?" Hermione murmured, her eyes boring into him. "She knows who they're from."

Neville frowned. "Oh."

"Yeah." She stared at him a moment longer, then turned back to the _Prophet_. "So," she asked him, "is there anything in _The Quibbler_ about the Department of Magical Creature Resource Management trying to bind the goblins in new legislation?"

"Not that I've seen," he said, pushing his copy over to her, "but does the_Prophet_ have anything to say about this?"

They were interrupted by a shrill squeal from across the Hall. Pansy was bouncing in her seat with a gleeful smile on her face, waving a parchment in Greengrass' face. Hermione rolled her eyes and devoted her attention to Neville's magazine and Neville tried to re-immerse himself in the conversation, but he was intensely curious what could possibly make Pansy so happy. News travels fast, especially when it's bad; he scarcely had to wait five minutes before it percolated from the Slytherins over to the Gryffindor table.

Draco Malfoy had been released from Azkaban and was claiming his own.

* * *

Neville massaged the small leather bag in his hand. The material was thin and supple, butter-smooth, and he could feel the reverberations of the flat stones inside every time they collided with a dull clink. _Pansy_, he thought, and once he felt that his mind had achieved some level of calm, he drew runes. Naudiz – need. Fehu – wealth. Ihaz – ice. Kaunan – light. Need to freeze money in the daytime? Must pay to freeze fire? Something to do with melting, maybe, with the fire and ice so close together? Or was it cold light – the cold light of truth that he needed to…be rich? It made no sense. Then again, neither did Pansy. She hadn't even looked for him on the Hogwarts Express, and not only had she not approached him since, but she seemed determined to avoid him altogether. Every time he tried to get near her, she vanished into the crowd – and there was always a crowd. He couldn't seem to catch her alone. The only way the situation even began to make sense was to incorporate Malfoy into it. Malfoy had owled Pansy, and now Pansy was avoiding Neville. Then again, she was ignoring him even before Malfoy's owl and she'd seemed surprised to hear from him. Neville had hoped he would be able to circumvent the whole Malfoy problem because of the other boy's conviction and imprisonment, but it seemed that not even prison could stop his malevolent influence. 

He sighed and dropped the runes back into the sack. Using runes in this manner was a lost cause, far too close to Divination in Neville's opinion. He was much more interested in the application of runic symbols for channeling magic in the environment, which, coincidentally, was the topic of the work he was supposed to be doing at the moment. Beside him, Hermione looked up from the preservation sphere she was creating. "Neville," she whispered, "did you send those flowers to Ginny?"

Neville started to chuckle, but quickly stifled the sound at her stern expression. "No."

"You knew what they were."

"I've read about them. But why would I send them to her?"

"I thought you might like her," Hermione answered, looking very clinical.

"What?"

"Well, you asked her to the Yule Ball-"

"That was three years ago!"

"Okay! It was just a theory!"

"I didn't mean to snap at you," Neville said apologetically. "She's a nice girl, but I don't like her in that way."

His aplomb was flustering Hermione. "I didn't mean to – well, I – I didn't mean to imply that you're insensitive or unthinking or-"

"I know," he said, but he hadn't considered that possibility until she mentioned it and it hurt a bit. Did Pansy think he was insensitive or unthinking? He supposed a letter wasn't a very good Christmas present, but he didn't know her well enough to get her anything that would suit her. Well, regardless of whether or not she was mad at him, they had Herbology together next and she'd have to talk to him. They were working together on a project that was due at the end of the week. The project was great - identification of hybrid plants Professor Sprout had created – and working with Pansy was fantastic, but it was all coming to an end shortly.


	3. Ring of Fire

**Chapter Three: Ring of Fire**

Neville left for Herbology in a fairly disgruntled mood and didn't notice that someone was calling his name until he was halfway to the greenhouses. He turned to find Pansy flying across the snow, hampered by a fur muff on her hands. Although he felt uncharitable, Neville nonetheless waited until she came to a shuddering halt beside him, one bare hand escaping the muff and latching onto his robes. "Started to think you'd gone deaf," she panted. Her cheeks were tinged a delicate pink from the cold and her eyes sparkled from the exertion.

Neville resisted the temptation to reach out and hug her for all she was worth. The relief coursing through him was so acute that he nearly forgot he'd spent the last couple of days agonizing over why she wouldn't so much as look at him. "Missed my last owl, then?" he asked stiffly.

She blinked, her smile frozen on her face. "What?"

"My last owl," he repeated, continuing on his way. "I asked if you wanted to sit together on the train."

"Oh, that's right. Yeah, I got it right before New Year's. I forgot about it, sorry."

"You just…forgot?" The notion was incomprehensible to him. How could she forget the only thing he'd been thinking about for the last week?

"_Have_ you gone deaf?" she asked carelessly, skipping past a small drift.

He decided to try a different tack. "I've tried to talk to you, but you always disappear."

"Really? I've never seen you."

Her blasé attitude was baffling Neville. She apparently wasn't avoiding him, given that she was seeking him out now, but she certainly didn't seem to care that she'd left him hanging all this time. Well, it was better to find out why sooner rather than later. He took the poisoned arrow that was Malfoy's letter and pointed it straight as his own heart. "Anything interesting going on with you?"

She shrugged. "Not really. Just Christmas stuff." She held up her muff. "Violet – that's my sister, she's in third year – she got me this. Isn't it just darling?"

Neville cursed her. The pitiless wench wouldn't even grant him a quick death. He was going to have to pierce his own skin. The muff was very elegant, though. "Someone said you got a letter from Malfoy – that's pretty interesting." He turned towards the greenhouse, hoping to hide his reaction from her. For good measure, he let the door creak open as she began speaking.

"Interesting for you, maybe, not for me. He didn't say much, except that he was doing well."

"Why were you so excited to get it, then?" he asked, abandoning all pretense of offhandedness.

"Samantha Vamiro was watching. I wanted to remind her that she didn't have a chance with him. Stupid bint's been after him for years."

So she was still possessive of Malfoy. He held the door for her and let it clatter shut behind them. "I haven't checked on our-"

"Finally," Pansy muttered over his attempt to discuss their joint Herbology project, and she launched herself at him. Coherent thought fled from Neville's mind and he caught her neatly, the feel of her slight form overwhelming his senses. "Get down here!" she demanded, tugging at his collar. He leaned over her obligingly and was rewarded by her lips on his.

Oh, it was as good as he remembered. Better, really. He threw himself wholeheartedly into the kiss, urging her lips to part and _oh yes_, he couldn't breathe properly and he couldn't have cared less. She squeezed his shoulders and moaned so quietly that he felt it more than heard it, and the vibrations from the sound traveled straight through him as he soared to a new level. His hands were spanning her waist and he moved them around and down, just a bit, not wanting to alarm her but at the same time being unable to resist the temptation. She shifted up onto her toes to kiss him more soundly, and suddenly he was cupping her arse gently as she sighed in pleasure. The knowledge did dangerous things to his anatomy and for a moment he thought he was going to simply pass out, but he didn't and at least retained the sense of mind to shift backwards a bit so she wouldn't be able to feel it. Not that it wouldn't feel absolutely wonderful to…and her tongue…so slick when she…he really _was_ going to pass out this time…

Before he could lose consciousness, Pansy ended the attack as abruptly as she'd begun it. She dragged her fingers through her hair, exhaling slowly and looking like she'd just been shagged. "Don't ever change, Neville," she sighed, nuzzling against his chest, which was no longer covered by his winter cloak (when had _that_ happened?). "It's good to see you again." He tried to maintain a bit of space between them but she would have none of it and pressed the entire length of her body against him. He cringed a bit and hoped that their cloaks provided enough padding for him to hide behind; he knew she'd never let it go if she found out. He wrapped his arms around her shoulders and rested his chin lightly on the top of her head, inhaling her delicate floral perfume. She was so small! and even though he knew better, at the moment she felt fragile.

And his arms were empty. He looked over at Pansy in surprise. It seemed she'd just Apparated halfway across the room out of sheer annoyance. The door to the greenhouse swung open and Ernie McMillan and Morag MacDougall shuffled inside. "Did you lose them or something, Longbottom?" Pansy asked.

He had absolutely no idea what she was going on about and he was utterly unprepared for the coldness in her voice, considering what had just passed between them. "What?"

"Well, I can't imagine you just decided you didn't want the extra marks and threw them away."

_The plants_. Neville's mind tried to process Pansy's sudden change of attitude. "They're over here. Pansy, why are you being so-"

"Oh, good, they're still alive. Well, that just leaves the report then, doesn't it? It's pretty much done, but I think we should go over it before we turn it in. Tomorrow evening, maybe?" With her back to Ernie and Morag, she winked saucily at Neville.

He felt his face grow hot. "Okay."


	4. The Best of Fools

A/N: I'm pleased to say that this story has been added to the c2 "Pansy Parkinson, Slytherin Princess" run by ClumsyTonks. You can find the c2 from her profile.**  
**

**Chapter Four: The Best of Fools**

Neville broke away from Pansy with a gasp. "But this next paragraph-"

"It's fine," Pansy assured him, pulling him towards her again.

He struggled against her, managing to inadvertently cop a feel in the process. "You haven't even read it!"

"I _wrote _it."

"You don't think we've overstated our – Pansy!" he cried. Her fingers were somehow sliding against bare skin at his waist.

She withdrew in a huff. "Fine, if you think the stupid homework is so much more interesting than I am even though you've read through it a hundred times, by all means, keep ignoring me."

"I'm not. Okay, I'll stop looking at it."

"We should really make this time count," she continued crossly, smoothing her hair. "I don't know about you, but my schedule's full to the brim. We'll have to catch time as it comes."

"What?"

"Are you trying to tell me you're not swamped with classes? I've barely got time to eat this semester. After I turn in this Herbology project I can finally start on Transfiguration, and Arithmancy is really starting to get ugly."

"Well, I mean, I've got classes too. I've got an Ancient Runes project to do, and I feel like I'm falling behind a bit in Charms…hey, maybe we could study for Charms together."

"Can't. I'm helping Daphne."

"Maybe you could help both of us."

"You don't understand. Daphne's, like, _remedial_. It's not even studying together, it's me tutoring her. You'd be bored stiff."

"I don't think I'd be bored if you're around," he said shyly, but this just made her roll her eyes in exasperation.

"But it wouldn't help you get Charms work done, would it? I'm sorry, I would study with you, but I already promised."

"But I do want to see you, Pansy," he persisted.

Her whole demeanour softened. "I want to see you too, Neville," she murmured, her eyes luminous, and he couldn't resist reaching up to cup her cheek. "It's just going to be so hard to find time – but I'll find it," she vowed, throwing her arms around him. "Whatever little time there is, I'm going to use it to find you, I promise."

Neville was touched. He hadn't understood at first when she'd started talking about her schedule, but now that he knew how little free time she really had, he was so happy that she was willing to spend it with him. "It'll be fine," he murmured, nuzzling her neck.

* * *

"…and then she kissed me," Neville sighed that Saturday afternoon. "I mean, I don't know what I was so worried about. I was obviously just overanalysing things." Luna nodded. "All this crazy stuff, thinking I had to fight Malfoy or something, thinking I needed Zabini's help…well, Zabini can smirk until the end of time, I don't care. I'm going to date whoever I want." 

"Who are you going to date?" Luna asked, a bit absently.

"I…were you listening to me or just pretending to?"

Her large eyes opened wide. "I heard you. You were talking about Pansy and how you kissed her and had been worrying about Malfoy and Zabini, and then you said you'd date whoever you want. Then I asked who you were going to date."

"I'm…I'm dating_ Pansy_. That's what I was…just saying, Luna."

"Oh, you're not dating Pansy," she said confidently, turning back to her back issue of _The Quibbler _that was sitting open on the table. "Why would you even want to? She's not very nice."

Neville reached over and flipped the magazine closed. "Luna, could you please listen for just a couple of minutes?" She turned to him, astonished. "I _am_ dating Pansy. She _is _nice. We got together after the final battle."

Now Luna looked annoyed. "I have never seen the two of you together unless you're working on that project of yours. She never talks to you outside of class-"

"That's not true!"

"-she never even goes over to say hi to you, and she's certainly never given any indication that she even likes you-"

"She has!"

"-in public. I can't listen to this quietly anymore. You're just seeing what you want to see." Neville thought that was pretty rich, considering who it was coming from. "To make things worse, I think you're picking up some of her nasty traits. She's hurting you, Neville, and you don't even realise it."

He couldn't believe what he was hearing. "I thought you'd be happy for me."

"I will be happy for you, when I see a reason to. All I can do is worry right now."

"Well, you don't have to worry," Neville asserted bitterly, standing. "I'm just fine."

* * *

Despite his earlier assertions that he was very busy with classwork, Neville wasn't in the mood for it and didn't see anything too pressing, so he stretched out on his bed, brooding and listening to WWN. _"Two known werewolves were apprehended earlier today outside of Dorchester, superficially injuring three Aurors in the process. The werewolves, whose names have not been released, will be charged with destruction of public property and resisting authority in addition to unspecified noncompliance under the newly-revised Assimilation of Magical Brethren act. Minister of Magic, Rufus Scrimgeour, will be hosting a press conference in half an hour to clarify the story. The Minister's new United Peace Initiative, which came into effect December 28th,"_

Neville flicked the wireless off. The dorm room was eerily silent without it. Harry was in St. Mungo's. Ron was at home, recuperating from having his wand arm severed during the final battle. Seamus had owled Dean a couple of days ago to say that like many parents, his mum approved of him going back to school, but of course he couldn't return in the middle of the year and would have to finish school with this year's sixth-years. Neville supposed he should be grateful that he was even graduating on time. He certainly hadn't wanted to go back – he'd even had recurring nightmares that Snape had somehow become Headmaster and tortured students who turned in their homework late – but his gran had insisted that he was not going to throw away his education in solidarity with Harry Potter.

Sighing, Neville heaved himself off the bed. He still wasn't in the mood for homework, but Hermione almost certainly was. Maybe she could motivate him. He wanted to be ready for Pansy when she was free.


	5. A Long Way Down

**Chapter Five: A Long Way Down**

Two weeks passed. Neville still wasn't talking to Luna, even though their disagreement had mostly faded from his memory. He busied himself with his usual pursuits – classwork, relaxing in the Gryffindor common room, and spending time in the greenhouse tending to plants. Professor Sprout had been delighted with Neville and Pansy's project and talked to him about pursuing Herbology as a career. He'd never really thought of it as an option until that point, and he was surprised at just how excited that prospect made him. Professor Sprout was excited, too, and was talking to colleagues about taking him on as an apprentice. He hadn't had time to tell Pansy about it. They were both excruciatingly busy, and Pansy often had detention on top of classwork. He'd found that the best way to steal time with her was wait until she got in trouble – and it was only a matter of time until she did – and meet up with her when she got out of detention and her ambition to get back to work was low. Unfortunately, her desire for meaningful discussions was also low at that point. The morning after such a post-detention encounter, Neville had finished his breakfast and was watching her horse around with Greengrass and Zabini from the corner of his eye and flipping through _The Quibbler_, whose editorials included _ASSIMILATION OF MAGICAL BRETHREN ACT IS ANTI-WEREWOLF AND ANTI-VAMPIRE _and_ GRINGOTTS ON THE BRINK? WHY I'M WITHDRAWING._ "Pass the sports if you're done, would you, Hermione?" Dean mumbled around a mouthful of eggs. She did with a look of distaste. "I wish I could've seen the Kestrels cream the Tornados!"

"A letter from Ron!" Ginny cried, retrieving an envelope from Pigwidgeon. She tore it open and withdrew a parchment and a smaller envelope. "And one for you, Hermione."

The older girl was gaping at the _Prophet_. Wordlessly, she tuned the paper to Ginny, who froze. "Oh no."

"What?" Neville asked.

"It's about a friend of ours, an Auror," Ginny explained, recovering enough to hand over Hermione's letter. "She's gone missing." The news hung like a pall over the table, much too reminiscent of the recent wartime for the students' comfort. Ginny tried to break the spell by reading aloud from Ron's letter. "Fleur's home from St. Mungo's – that's my brother Bill's wife. And – oh! Sounds like Lee Jordan's convinced George to re-open Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes! Ron says he's doing well and sends his regards."

"I _really_ wish I could've seen that match," Dean sighed, tossing the sports section down on the table. "Ready for class, Neville?"

"I guess so."

"C'mon, Pavarti, we'll be late for Charms."

Neville made sure Pansy saw him smile at her before he left the Great Hall and got a small, adorable grin in return. He hoped Greengrass was finally caught up in Charms and Pansy would be free to work with him.

* * *

Ginny stormed into the Common Room that evening, scowling. She was holding her arms stiffly by her sides, which Neville thought was a symptom of her ill humour. When he looked more closely, however, he noticed that both pinkie fingers were pointing forward and her thumbs back, but her wrists didn't look twisted. "Ginny, what's with your arms?" he asked. 

"Like it?" she asked acidly, and bent her arms...backwards.

The visual was nauseating. Neville had to look away. Andrea screamed, which got everyone's attention. "What did you _do_?" Dean cried.

"I got attacked by Parkinson from behind, that's what," Ginny snapped. "She's such a damned coward, can't take a fair fight. I've been in the infirmary all afternoon, but Madame Pomfrey needs another potion to set my arms right and she won't have it 'till tomorrow, so she released me even though I still hurt quite a bit."

"What kind of jinx is that?" Hermione asked.

"I don't think it is. She threw a few my way, Pomfrey thinks they interacted badly."

"I'll say," Dean breathed, creeping behind Ginny and reaching for her hands. Ginny rolled her eyes as she allowed him to manipulate her arms out of her vision. "You've got to admit, it's kind of wicked."

"Sure, if I don't plan on doing any writing or spellwork or eating."

Neville didn't want to ask the question – he was afraid of the answer – but he spoke anyways. "Why did Pansy hex you?"

Ginny turned a baleful eye on him. "It's Parkinson, Neville. Who knows why she does_anything_?" It was as he thought. Last semester, Pansy had as good as told him that she wasn't above hexing people for no good reason. At the time, that fact simply made her seem more fearsome and, perversely, attractive, but now he was just getting upset. Pansy _knew_ Ginny was his friend; why couldn't she stick to tripping up firsties in the hallway? "Luckily," Ginny continued, "Flitwick was apparently just around the corner and caught her red-handed after I passed out. She's got detention pretty much forever and got fifty points from Slytherin."

"Want to retaliate?" Dean asked, swinging her arms out in front of her arse.

"It would be so satisfying to pay her back in kind," she sighed wistfully.

Hermione glanced up sharply. "You'll just end up in detention, too."

"_With_ her, probably," Ginny added, making a face. "I guess you're – ugh, Dean! Let me go already! Yeah, I guess an all-out attack isn't a bright idea."

Neville had a mind to retaliate on his own. He knew he should feel indignant on Ginny's behalf, he really did, but all he could think about was the disrespect Pansy was showing _him _by attacking the youngest Weasley. Did all their time together mean nothing to her? Did she care so little for his friends? And now she'd gone and bollocksed things up by getting detention for the rest of her tenure at school – that was going to severely cut into the time they could spend with each other. His head was starting to hurt just thinking about it.

He'd always thought that life would be somehow easier with a girlfriend, but it seemed that lately all Pansy was doing was causing him a lot of strife. Until this point, he had attributed most of his frustration to not being able to see her when he wanted, but now he realised there were more complex issues that had to be sorted through.

He and Pansy needed to have a little talk.

* * *

A/N: I trashed some of the story that was originally going to go here as irrelevant/boring. This chapter seems a little awkward, but I had to leave it there as the next scene is long. As well it should be, I guess - it's been a long time coming ;) 


	6. State of Love and Trust

**Chapter Six: State of Love and Trust**

Sure enough, Neville noticed that Pansy bundled up after classes and trudged across the snow-covered grounds towards Hagrid's cabin after class the next day. Neville shook his head at no one in particular and retired to the library to work on his Defense Against the Dark Arts essay with Dean. They split up half an hour before supper, Dean towards the infirmary to try and catch a last glimpse of Ginny's wicked backwards arms and Neville to the dorm to drop off their bags. He turned a corner to find Pansy marching down the hall in front of her, head down and limbs stiff. "Pansy," he called, "I need to talk to you."

She whirled around. "Not now." Her words were muffled by the scarf around the lower half of her face; her exposed skin was red and her eyelashes were wet.

Fresh annoyance shot through Neville. "Yes, now."

"I am cold," she spat. Now that he was closer, he could see that she was still shivering, although the temperature of the hallway was quite pleasant. "We'll talk later."

"We can talk while you warm up." He knew he was pushing his luck. She was rarely in a good mood after detention, a time she usually used to stew silently about how unjust her punishment was.

She stamped her foot. "I am _freezing_ cold. I have been out with that _maniac_ for _hours_. I'm having a bath, then I'm having supper, and_then_ we can talk." Chastened, Neville stepped forward to apologise. She took his advance as stubbornness. "Fine," she huffed, "you can talk when I'm in the bath, but you have to promise not to look."

Neville felt like Peeves had stuffed his mouth with cotton. "Uh."

"Come _on_," she demanded, tugging at his arm, "I'm too cold to stand around here." He allowed himself to be taken to the fifth floor, where she stopped beside a statue, whispered a password, and dragged him through the door without even checking that the coast was clear.

The room was the epitome of elegant splendour, evocative of the old Roman baths. Magical torches flickered against the marble walls, casting soft light through the cavernous room. "Prefect bathroom?" he guessed.

"Nice, huh?" she grunted, throwing her hat and scarf on the floor. She kicked her boots off in the general direction of the door and padded over to the multiple faucets on the pool-sized bathtub. Now her cloak was unclasped and she was telling him about her detention over the roar of water. "...he expected me to handle these horrible huge carcasses and they were dripping blood and everything-" She broke off and glared at him, her hand trailing into her robes. "Don't look, Neville!" He turned around quickly and stared at his shoes, trying not to think about what was happening behind him. "...and so here I was, dragging huge disgusting pieces of dead animals through the snow into the Forbidden Forest of all places, so that that idiot can feed invisible animals! _I_ think he was just trying to traumatise me, they don't really exist...maybe he and Loony Lovegood could-" Not even breaking the cadence of her tirade, Pansy screamed. Neville whirled, whipping out his wand, and what he saw robbed him of breath.

Pansy was crouched at the edge of the bath in profile with one white leg outstretched gracefully over the water, bubbles decorating her ankle. The leg closest to Neville was drawn flush against her chest. Her back was arched outwards for support, and her chin was nearly touching her knee. He found his gaze drawn to the line between her thigh and her chest that was shielding her small breasts from his vision, but Pansy was screaming again.

"I SAID DON'T LOOK!" she shrieked furiously, curling into a ball.

Unable to look away, Neville resorted to putting his hands over his eyes before he was sufficiently distracted to turn away. "Sorry."

"I trusted you, Neville!" she cried.

"You were screaming!"

"The water's hot!"

"I thought you were in trouble." The image of her was seared onto his retinas. Her alabaster curves...the turn of her ankle...her dark hair against her pink cheeks...

She yelped again and Neville twitched towards her involuntarily but managed to hold his position. "You just wanted to see me starkers," she accused, sounding close to tears. "Get out!"

"No, I – well, yes, I guess, I mean, I _do _want to see you," he stammered, "but only if you _want_ me to see you."

He could hear the sloshing of water. "I don't want you to see me," she said quietly.

That was unfortunate, as an image of her nude figure reaching out to him was currently looping through his brain. "I know, I didn't mean to look. I really thought you were in trouble."

"What kind of trouble could I get into in the bathroom?" she scoffed.

"I don't know. I'm just sorry. I'll go now."

"You can stay if you want," she muttered. "You can turn around now, too." So he did. Her head was the only thing visible over the copious layer of bubbles. She began smoothing some of the foam into her hair, her arms gleaming in the soft light. "So what's so important that you couldn't wait to talk about it?"

He was having trouble bringing himself back to the reason he was here. "You hexed Ginny."

She smiled in a self-satisfied manner as she scrubbed the bubbles into her scalp. "I did."

"Why'd you do that, Pansy?"

Pansy stopped scrubbing abruptly and fixed him with a piercing glare. "That bitch," she spat, "got what was coming to her."

"That's not a reason. She's my friend, Pansy."

"That's not a reason _not_ to hex her. Honestly, what is it about the Widow Potter that makes every bloke out there so eager to protect her? She's not that pretty, she's boring as anything-"

"This isn't just about Ginny. It's that you're out hexing my friends for no apparent reason."

"Did you _ask_ Potter's little demigoddess why she deserved what she got? No, I didn't think so."

"Why don't _you_ just tell me?"

"Because I want her to admit it. So go ahead, ask her, then tell me what she said. I'll tell you if she's lying or not."

"You don't make any sense."

"You say that like it's a bad thing."

Neville tried to swallow his frustration at this useless line of questioning. "Pansy, listen to me carefully. I don't _ever_ want to hear that you've hurt _any_ of my friends."

Pansy's shoulders emerged from beneath the surface as she stood. "Are you_threatening _me, Longbottom?"

"Why is it so hard for you to just promise you won't hurt any of my friends?"

"I'm sorry you're unhappy, Neville. I'm not sorry for what I did, and I'd do it again, but I'm sorry you feel this way."

Neville slumped onto a chair in defeat. "You know, these people will be your friends one day, too. You'll be hanging out with them when the semester finally settles down and we have more time together."

"I don't need more friends," she said before ducking briefly underwater.

"This is important to me!" he burst out when she resurfaced. "I want you to be able to be in the same room with my friends! I want you to be around, period! Your bloody detentions, I don't know if they're ruining our relationship or if they're the only reason we have one! I need more." The words were out of his mouth before he realised they were true. "You don't have to partner with Greengrass in every class. You don't, even. You were with Ernie in Charms a few days ago."

"He asked me. What was I supposed to do, turn him down?"

"Yes! Yes, you should've told him you were going to work with me!"

"I didn't realise you were so possessive," she said disapprovingly.

"I'm not!" he protested, though he immediately started to wonder if he was. "It's not being possessive to ask you to be around me sometimes. We could work together in a couple of classes. We could do homework together once in a while. You must have _some _time you could free up on Saturdays. I can't believe you don't have a single spare hour."

"Well, believe it."

"No," he said stubbornly. "Take this Saturday off. It'll be like a holiday. We'll do something fun."

"I can't."

"Why not?"

"Well – there's that DADA essay-"

"Do it Sunday."

"No." Animosity glittered in Pansy's eyes, but behind it was something else.

Fear.

"What is it?" he demanded. "No more lies, Pansy, just tell me."

He could see her grabbing frantically for another half-truth. Her hair was slicked back against her head, and her face shone with water droplets. It was the perfect showcase for her delicate features. "You're a nerd, Neville!" she cried finally, her shoulders slumping in resignation.

Neville blinked. This certainly wasn't what he had expected. "So what?"

"So? I'm not a nerd! I can't be seen with you!"

A wave of nausea swept over Neville, and he gripped the seat of the chair to steady himself. "This is it," he said flatly. "It's not that you can't see me, it's that you can't let other people see you with me." Her silence and refusal to meet his eyes carried her assent. "That's crazy."

"It's not crazy!" she insisted. "How would I explain it to people? I'd be a laughingstock!"

He struggled to remain calm, but he knew that he hadn't exactly been doing a stellar job promoting Pansy to his own friends and that guilt fed his agitation. "Pansy," he tried, staggering out of the chair, "it doesn't matter-"

"That's easy for you to say!" she retorted hotly. "_You _have nothing to lose."

That undid him. "Who cares what people think!" he bellowed, his voice echoing off the marble walls of the room. "We're graduating in five months! We'll be gone!"

"We're going to be dealing with our classmates for the rest of our lives and you know it!" she screamed back.

"They're not going to care! Everything's going to be different!"

"Nothing's going to be different!" Her lips were thrust forward petulantly, daring him to argue. She wasn't just verbally sparring, she was angry. Neville knew that all he had to do was agree with her, to tell her it was best that no one ever saw them together, and things would go back to normal.

Neville was sick and tired of normal. "Why does everyone else's opinion matter more than mine? Shouldn't you care what I think, what I want?"

She blew out a breath in exasperation, carving a trough through the surface of the bubbles. "Neville, you don't understand-"

"Actually, Pansy, I think I do," he said stiffly. "I'm sorry I'm such an inconvenience to you."

"That's not what I – hey! Where are you going?" she cried as he strode to the door. "Don't leave!"

"I'll talk to you later." Neville left.


	7. Sort of a Protest

**Chapter Seven: Sort of a Protest**

Neville's mind was a landscape of rubble. He roamed slowly, meticulously overturning each pebble and considering it. Pansy didn't think he was good enough for her. Pansy cared more about the opinions of the unnamed denizens of Hogwarts over his own. Pansy was too embarrassed to tell her friends about him.

He wouldn't make the next logical leap. He couldn't, _wouldn't_ believe that Pansy didn't care about him.

Was he too embarrassed to tell his friends about her? Obviously not – he'd told Luna. Still, he hadn't told anyone else, not Dean nor Hermione nor Ginny. Maybe he subconsciously considered her a liability? No, he decided. It was simply too awkward to bring it up in casual conversation when his friends' minds immediately went to an abstract version of the Slytherin - "not very nice," as Luna would say.

Even Neville wasn't deluded enough to think Pansy was all sunshine and dittany. He had to get her out of this childish mindset she had, this narcissism that led her to believe that her daily exploits were of that much interest to the student body, and he had to prove to himself that he was proud to be associated with her. Maybe he had to prove that to her, too.

Early in the morning, as he stared out his window at the moon, Neville realised there was really only one thing to do and he swore to himself he would accomplish it at all costs. In that delirium that precedes long-awaited sleep, he began to plot. Just before he drifted off, he reminded himself that he wasn't much of a plotter.

"Hey, Zabini," Neville said as casually as he could the next morning as the Ancient Runes class was packing up their materials. "Could I talk to you for a second?"

Zabini blinked lazily at him, that insufferable smirk on his face. "Longbottom," he intoned, malicious pleasure dripping from each drawn-out syllable. "What can I do for you?"

Neville nearly turned around and walked away; certainly, it was too early in the morning to deal with the smugness. "I was wondering if you could help me," he said instead, his teeth gritted.

"And how can I be of service?" Zabini asked with an overly-theatrical show of surprise.

"I, uh, need to talk to Pansy."

Zabini's smarmy grin faded a bit. "You made her mad again or something? Look, Neville, I can't keep saving your clumsy arse every time you-"

"Could you just make sure she doesn't disappear at lunch? I tried to catch her at breakfast but she got away."

"That was pretty hilarious," Zabini chortled. "Well, I suppose I could do this favour for you. However, one day I might ask you for something in return, and I-"

"Forget it, okay?" Neville snapped, breaking through the other boy's expansive, overblown speech.

Zabini dropped all appearances of lazy amusement. "Seriously, Longbottom, are you going to make this worth my while?"

"Yeah, whatever."

"Then you're on. Lunchtime. Parkinson's not going anywhere."

Neville's recollection of the Runes lesson he'd sat was hazy at best, but the rest of the morning passed in a veritable fog. His food at lunch tasted like cardboard but he shoved it down mechanically.

"They're using Dobby as an example now, you know." Hermione's voice pierced through Neville's cocoon of grey silence. "What I'd like to know is, what kind of new bindings can they _possibly_ be proposing? It's sick, that's what it is. As if the current oppression isn't enough. They just want to destroy the happiness of all magical creatures. This is not what we fought for. We fought for freedom. Now Scrimgeour is strutting around like _he_ had something to do with the new peace and people are falling all over him! Are people's memories so short?"

Ginny was twirling her fork absently, making no pretense of looking interested. Dean was facing Hermione politely, but Neville was pretty sure he wasn't listening. "I agree with you, Hermione," Neville said. "Scrimgeour's way out of line. He's no Fudge, don't get me wrong, but he's been taking credit for a lot of things that just happened. Even if he doesn't come out and say it directly, he lets people think it."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "And now he's parading those werewolves around like they're some kind of trophy. Well, I hope he's proud of himself for-"

A cherry pie appeared in front of Neville, reminding him that lunchtime was growing short, and he started to his feet. "Just forgot, I've got to go," he said hurriedly. "Hermione, I'll talk to you later." He slung his bag awkwardly over his shoulder and started slowly towards the Slytherin table with the numbness of a death march.

Zabini's eyes were on him first, but Pansy's weren't far behind. An unschooled bystander may have thought she had looked straight by him, perhaps not in his direction at all, but she immediately whispered something to Greengrass and reached for her bag. With her head still bent down, she gave an odd lurch and ricocheted back upright, her hair flying outwards as she looked about wildly. Zabini slid his arm over Pansy's shoulders with a smirk and grasped her forearm as it shot downwards towards her pocket, effectively stopping her from reaching her wand. He was all casual elegance as he leaned on her, his posture incongruous with the force Neville knew he had to be using to keep Pansy still. She, on the other hand, looked distinctly ruffled as Neville came to a stop in front of them.

It seemed that Pansy was conflicted between giving him a murderous look or an indifferent one. Greengrass' was more confusion than anything, and Zabini...well, Zabini seemed beside himself with evil anticipation. Neville couldn't look at anyone else. His resolve was already beginning to melt. Taking a steadying breath, he plunged ahead with the preordained words. "Pansy," he said, "I'd like you to come with me on the Valentine's Hogsmeade weekend."

Pansy gave him a flinty, superior look with a hint of warning in it. "_What_?!" Greengrass gasped finally. "Longbottom, that's just pathetic."

Neville waited extra seconds to see if Pansy would deign to answer him, his heart beating wildly all the while, begging him to undo the entire day or at least abandon his course of action despite his late-night fervour. She was still as a statue before him, barely breathing through what Neville surmised was well-disguised fury. "Not a chance," she growled, her mask of indifference very thin indeed.

"You've got two weeks to decide," he informed her gently, "but if you don't come to Hogsmeade with me, I'll never speak to you again."

There was a moment of stunned silence, and then Greengrass erupted into hooting laughter. "That's precious!" she gasped, falling towards Pansy. "Longbottom fancies you!" She nudged Pansy in the shoulder, trying to let her in on the joke, but Pansy remained rigid. Her wand-arm jerked wildly, as Zabini was laughing too hard to keep strict control of her. When she broke free, she surprisingly didn't cut straight to jinxes but reversed the Sticking Charm on her bottom and stalked straight out of the Hall. Greengrass was on her heels, more confused than ever. By this point, Zabini was pounding the table, crying with mirth. "So worth it!" he choked out. "Oh, you were _brilliant_, mate!"

All of Neville's senses were muted as he retreated from the Hall. He could hear the usual dull roar of students' conversations but couldn't make out words; he knew there were people all around him but he took no notice of whether they took notice of him or not. It was only in the hallway when hearing his name sharpened his mind to sufficiently sense his surroundings.

Luna was coming towards the Great Hall from the direction of the Ravenclaw dorms. "Is something wrong?" she asked. "Did the Nargles – I could make you a necklace if you...?" Her head tilted inquisitively, one of her radish earrings falling onto her cheek as her hair caught the light.

It was one thing to know deep in his heart what he had done. It was quite another to say it aloud. He closed his eyes and struggled to control his breathing as the initial shock wore off and the enormity of his actions crashed over him. Was it only last night he had coldly considered this possibility? Now it had him gasping for air. "I...I think I just broke up with her," he choked, his voice cracking.

He felt thin arms go around him and he clung to the body like a life preserver. She was too tall, and the hair tickling his nose was light and fluffy, not heavy and sleek. It was all wrong, but at the moment it was all he had. "I asked her to Hogsmeade in front of everyone...I don't know what I was...she hates me now..."

"That was very brave of you," she said softly.

"You were right, Luna. You were right about her, about everything."

Her grip tightened. "I didn't want to be," she whispered, sounding stricken. "Oh Neville, I'm so sorry..."


	8. Fully Completely

**Chapter Eight: Fully Completely**

News spread rapidly from eyewitnesses to the rest of the student body that Longbottom had lost his mind and insisted that Parkinson accompany him on Valentine's. Ginny took Neville's actions as being directly against herself and was pointedly not speaking to him. Most people were avoiding the green-and-silver elephant in the room after a rather disastrous incident where Hermione presented a well-meaning but misguided case that Neville didn't truly fancy Parkinson, but was obviously trying in vain to redeem the Slytherin. "She's easy on the eyes, but Neville, you could've started with someone less heartless," was all Dean had to say on the matter before turning the conversation back to Quidditch and classwork.

It was Luna who formed the definitive barrier to any insensitive missives or ridicule. She didn't do anything specific, but was quietly present for him to spend time with outside of class. He didn't deserve her kindness, not after the way he'd rejected her opinions, and he was also aware that she preferred to have prodigious time to herself and felt guilt that he was interrupting her normal routine. All the same, it was a relief not having to discuss Pansy since he was trying his best to not have any thoughts about her whatsoever. He was schooling himself to not look over at her in spare moments during class or mealtime. The impulses were almost subconscious now, and each time he caught himself was a visceral reminder of how much he had underestimated her.

A couple of days after The Incident, Neville was in the library with Luna, each working on their respective assignments when Zabini slid into the seat next to him. "What're you working on, mate?" he asked with a...good Circe, would he _ever_ stop smirking?

"We're mates now, are we?" Neville asked acerbically, flipping a page of the large book open before him.

"Look, anyone who can drive Pansy as batty as you have is okay in my book! Lovegood," he acknowledged. tipping an invisible hat to her.

"Blaise," she returned serenely.

"You know, you two are brilliant," Zabini continued. "Pansy's heard the rumours by now and she's furious!"

"What do you mean?" Luna asked.

"You mean you haven't heard? You're doing your best trying to mend Neville's broken heart in hopes that he'll go with you on Valentine's instead of Pansy."

"What?!" Neville spluttered, forgetting for a moment that he was in a library.

Luna considered that for a moment. "I suppose I can see how people would think that," she decided. "They're not correct, though."

"Couldn't you go bother someone else, Blaise?" Neville asked.

He shrugged indifferently. "I suppose. My bird's thrown me over – doesn't approve of me taking your side on the whole Pansy thing – so I'm not very welcome with the other Slytherins right now. Maybe Padma would appreciate a little excitement in her life."

"Don't go over there, she's trying to finish her Transfiguration and Arithmancy essays at the same time and is biting people's heads off." Neville sighed. "Fine, you can stay here, but could you not talk about Pansy? I'm trying not to think about her."

Blaise looked slightly offended. "Don't you want my insider's perspective on her state of mind right now?"

"I don't need it. You just said she was angry." Blaise just stared at Neville expectantly. "What?"

"Aren't you..._happy_ that she's angry?"

"Civilised people don't take joy in the pain of others."

Zabini rolled his eyes. "I'll let that jab slide for the moment...Neville, do you even know that it means, that she's angry?"

"Why don't you go sit somewhere-"

"You've won!" he hissed excitedly. "You've gotten to her! She's so angry about the rumours about you and Luna because she thinks they're true and she can't do anything about it!"

"It's not about winning," Neville muttered. "I don't want to hurt her."

'That's the best part! She's hurting _herself_! Now she's getting paranoid and decided that you don't look at her as much anymore."

"Are you sure she's okay?" Neville asked, uneasy at the extremism of Blaise's report. "Maybe I should try to talk to her."

Blaise pointed a warning finger at Neville. "You're going to keep ignoring her, and here is why. You're not going to nancy around playing her stupid game anymore. You know the saying, whoever cares least wins."

"But I do care-"

"But she doesn't have to _know_ that. I was right there, Longbottom, and you gave her an ultimatum. What do you think is going to happen if you go soft on her now?"

Neville squirmed in his seat. "She'll feel better?"

"And how will _you_ feel?"

"...Bad, I guess."

"Her name might be Pansy, but she's not some shrinking flower. She'll live."

"Why are you trying to help me?"

Blaise gave Neville a pitying look. "Because you're an idiot."

"It probably has something to do with your mum too, doesn't it?" Luna piped up, turning her gaze on Blaise. "I know it's impolite to bring it up, but we seem to be having a familiar conversation so I hope you don't mind."

Blaise was visibly startled by Luna's speech and muttered something under his breath, blushing slightly.

* * *

Now Neville had two people constantly watching his back (true to his word, Blaise had been ostracised by Pansy and Greengrass and had nothing better to do). After a week or so of Blaise's company, Neville decided that the Slytherin wasn't such a bad guy after all – when he was on your side. Dean got a kick out of Blaise's brashness and the three of them had a great time working together and sharing ideas on what should've been an exceedingly drab History of Magic essay. Neville was on his way to meet the two of them after class when he encountered Professor Sprout in the hallway. "I just got an owl from Leskin van der Joon, my old colleague I trained under Anton Vost with. I've just skimmed the first page, but I'd told her about your term project and she thinks we should publish the results!" 

Neville's mouth dropped open. "Really?"

"She recognises the practical implications of your research – as I did – and agrees that it has broad appeal in the pain management field."

"But Professor, I – well, I didn't even create the hybrid!"

Sprout grinned broadly. "No," she allowed, "I did, but you characterised it and confirmed it by re-deriving the plant so we publish together! This is the collaborative spirit of research I was trying to impress upon you earlier, working with others and sharing ideas with your peers. It will help you on your search for an apprenticeship, too. With this, you should be able to get a top-tier placement."

"Yes," he agreed vaguely. He'd been focused more on short-term goals than his future lately.

"Why don't we meet tomorrow afternoon to discuss the manuscript, perhaps draft an outline?"

"That sounds fine," he said, beginning to get excited about the prospect.

"After class, then," she said, and they parted.

Neville passed by a small knot of fourth years and waved to Jimmy Peakes, to whom Neville had offered Herbology help the night before. Jimmy nodded back and Neville strode onward.

"Hey, Neville." Pansy had hidden herself so completely that Neville hadn't even noticed her as he'd gone by. She was digging her toe against the stone floor, a portrait of guilelessness as he turned towards the direction of her voice.

"Pansy," Neville said warmly, ready to put the recent insanity behind him. This seemed to be his lucky day.

She gave him a shy smile, tucking a short, dark lock of hair behind her ear. "I was wondering if you wanted to work on the Charms assignment together?"

It might have worked if Blaise hadn't been keeping Neville as up-to-date as he could on Pansy's state of mind. He knew well that the chances of this pseudo-apology coming from a place of contrition – or even goodwill, for that matter – were exceedingly slim. "Are you going to go to Hogsmeade with me?" he asked gently,

The fake shyness fell away from her immediately. "Can't we discuss that later?" she huffed.

"No," he said, turning his back on her with regret. "I mean what I said." He saw that Blaise was slouched against the wall at the end of the hallway, watching.

Behind him, Pansy shrieked incoherently. It occurred to him that she could be angry enough to attack him and he drew his wand covertly. A second later, Blaise shouted in warning and Neville whirled in time to see her cast a curse aimed low on his torso.

Pansy's curse bounced harmlessly off Neville's hastily conjured shield but ricocheted off the floor and, to his horror, struck the fourth years. Jimmy toppled to the ground. Pansy hadn't noticed and was glaring at Neville defiantly, her chest heaving.

He cast a Pinprick Hex on her to make sure she wouldn't attack him again. Her eyes widened as it hit her arm; within seconds she was crying out, clutching at the afflicted area. Finally, she collapsed, reaching out piteously for him as he strode by. "What have you done?" he murmured, most of his attention on Jimmy, who was trying and failing to stand. He approached the fourth years and helped to haul the ashen-faced victim to his feet.

"My leg…" he muttered, "the muscles don't work."

Sure enough, the muscles were completely useless; the muscles wouldn't contract at all, and the spell couldn't be reversed in any of the usual ways. Neville thought of where Pansy had aimed the spell and flushed with mingled guilt and relief that she hadn't accomplished her original mission. "I'm really sorry about this, Jimmy. Let me help you to the hospital wing."

"_Finite incantatum_," he heard Blaise say behind him. "You're hopeless."

"Give me my wand!" Pansy demanded immediately.

"Not a chance."

"Get back here, Longbottom!"

"Ow! Calm down!"

"What is the meaning of this?" As one, the students froze at McGonagall's voice.

"I'm sorry, Professor," Neville said immediately. "I was horsing around and accidentally cursed Jimmy. I was just taking him to the hospital wing."

McGonagall narrowed her eyes in frank suspicion, but no one came forward with another version of the story. "Very well, Longbottom," she said crisply. "Detention. Tonight. Twenty points from Gryffindor for carelessness."

"Yes, Ma'am."

"Mr. Zabini, Miss Parkinson, you will unhand each other. Ten points from Slytherin." Blaise held out Pansy's wand, which was immediately snagged by Pansy. McGonagall's brow arched. "You are all dismissed."

Pansy stomped off. "What were you covering up for her for?" Jimmy asked Neville. "She's a right bitch, if you ask my opinion. You don't still _like _her, do you?"

"I didn't ask your opinion," Neville replied, pulling the other boy forward more roughly than necessary.

* * *

A/N: The chapter's spiritual title, "I recommend measures for ending this/Lover, she simply slams the door" seemed a bit long, unfortunately, so I just went with the song title. 


	9. Rapunzel

**Chapter Nine: Rapunzel**

Neville was attempting to stand still, but not too still. He didn't want to draw attention to himself, but it was hard to be inconspicuous as a Gryffindor loitering outside the Slytherin common room. Several students sniggered as they passed him, and Violet Parkinson had led a round of jeering before setting off for Hogsmeade with her posse of third-year girls. He had borne it stoically, comforting himself with the supposition that none of his young tormentors had even the possibility of a date for Valentine's Day.

He still had a possibility, but it was growing more remote with each passing minute.

Blaise stepped into the hallway; when he saw Neville, his mouth twisted into a sympathetic grimace. "Best of luck to you, mate," he said, clapping Neville on the shoulder. "We'll be at the Three Broomsticks. Why don't you meet us there later?"

"'Us'?"

"Luna and I."

"Maybe."

"Think about it, no matter what happens." Neville watched him walk to the end of the hall, where Luna had just appeared. Luna waved to Neville before Blaise offered her his arm and they walked off.

He wondered why both Blaise and Luna had neglected to mention their joint outing when the three of them had been together last night, but reasoned that there was no space as the conversation had revolved mostly around Neville.

"You can't _seriously_ be thinking she'll change her mind now," Blaise had said incredulously when Neville had expressed his intention to wait for Pansy for the entire length of the Hogsmeade trip if he had to. "Think of how she's treated you, think of every terrible thing she's done to you in the last month! Why, _why_ don't you cut your losses and be done with her?"

Neville couldn't expect them to understand the rapport he and Pansy had developed over the last term. They couldn't possibly know how gentle her teasing had become since they'd become friends, how fulfilling their time together was. Barring recent tensions, the two of them got along uncannily well, he thought. Neville doubted that Malfoy ever liked Pansy for who she was, rather than what she was, and he sensed a genuine appreciation from her that she never had to pretend around him. He refused to let her go that easily, knowing how vulnerable she was to other people's opinions. They could work past this if she was willing to try. He could forgive Blaise and Luna for not seeing the same potential in the situation as he did – all they'd ever seen was her denouncing him. He'd simply answered, "I asked her to meet me. Imagine if she'd come late and I wasn't there. What kind of message would that send to her?"

"You're unbelievable," Blaise had said faintly. "I don't think you realise-"

"Leave him alone!" Luna had cried, uncharacteristically distressed. "Can't you see this is what he wants?"

So now he stood alone, watching as the door swung open one last time. A knot of students tumbled out the door – too young for Hogsmeade by the looks of them. They gave him quizzical looks as they passed, Gobstones clutched close to their chests, and Neville sighed inwardly. It appeared that even the stragglers had finally made their way out. He supposed that he should make his way to the Three Broomsticks, but he really didn't want to see the pity on Blaise and Luna's faces. Then again, if he never showed they would assume the worst. While he was paralysed by indecision, the door eased open once more.

Pansy looked wonderful. Under her cloak, her robes were a deep, dusky pink with a plunging, rippled neckline and her small waist was perfectly accented. She had done something to her hair, too. It was softened, full of movement and almost curly, a contrast to her usual smooth cap. She would've looked perfect if not for the forbidding expression on her face.

She stopped an arm's length away from him, her arms crossed, hip thrown out, and her face screwed up into the most disdainful snarl he'd ever seen on her. He extended a hand to her. Her scowl became positively withering, and if looks could kill Neville would've crumpled to the floor. With exaggerated, insolent movements, she untangled her arms and shoved her hand onto his outstretched palm with so much force that it almost hurt.

Neville smiled.


	10. Future Says Run

**Chapter Ten: Future Says Run**

Pansy tried to yank her hand out of Neville's the minute she thought she could get away with it, but he held her fast. "I'm glad you decided to come," he said softly, but this only made her nostrils flare with anger. They stepped outside and the weather was lovely, crisp yet sunny enough to start melting the snow.

"I need my hand back for my muff," she said tightly.

Well, he supposed that was a hello of sorts. "It's such a nice day, Pansy. I can keep your hand warm." Oh yes, she was definitely going to kill him.

They passed by Natalie MacDonald and Euan Abercrombie, who seemed to be dawdling along the path and stopping periodically to fling wet snow at each other. "Hi, Neville," Natalie said breathily, her mittens sopping wet. She nodded courteously at Pansy and then veered off towards Euan, who was waving to the two seventh-years.

"So, how've you been, Pansy?" Neville asked, grateful that their first encounter with polite society had gone as well as could be hoped.

"You know how I've been," she hissed dangerously. "I know how you've been, too. Blaise told me everything."

"He what?" Neville yelped.

Well, at least she was smiling now, even if it sent chills up Neville's spine. "You didn't really think he could keep his mouth shut, did you? Spilled everything, trying to convince me to go, and made Daphne row with me over it to boot." She turned more thoughtful. "Honestly, I don't know how he plans to get on her good side by turning her against me, too."

"I don't think he's much interested in Daphne's forgiveness," Neville mused, "considering he's out with Luna right now."

She turned to him in astonishment. "This, I've _got_ to see."

"They want us to meet them at the Three Broomsticks later."

Pansy's eyes narrowed. "And where, pray tell, are we going first?" she snapped, obviously remembering that she was still angry with him.

"I was thinking you might want to go to Madam Puddifoot's," he said, wrenching her fingers against another escape attempt. "But I suppose we could go anywhere."

"Home?" she muttered, eyeing the students in the streets with marked apprehension.

"Pansy."

"Fine, then. Whatever you want, since this is all about you." Some Slytherins waved in their direction and Pansy shrunk into her cloak.

"This is _not _all about me. I wanted to talk to you, just the two of us. If you really don't want to talk to me alone, we can go straight to the Three Broomsticks."

"Oh, I _suppose_ we could go to the bloody tea shop," she huffed.

Neville halted abruptly. "I won't let you convince yourself that I've forced this on you."

"You have."

He loosened his grip on her. "Free will, Pansy. Make a decision."

She began stomping beside him towards Madam Puddifoot's, dragging Neville behind her. Once seated in the tea-shop, she looked a bit less angry, but it was still clear from her petulant expression that she'd rather be anywhere else than stuck with him. They ordered – some awful-sounding mint chocolate tea for her, classic hot chocolate for him – and tense silence ensued. Pansy's eyes were darting all about the room, surveying all of the other tables. Everyone else was too wrapped up in their companions to notice the odd couple in the corner. "...wearing that horrid scarf again," Pansy grumbled under her breath, fidgeting with her napkin.

"I do wish you'd relax," Neville said, trying his best not to sound annoyed. "You've been seen in public with me. Nothing happened. Nothing's going to happen. No one else cares."

"They could be planning something," she mumbled.

"What, to teach you some sort of lesson? Actually, I lied earlier. Things _have_ happened because I'm trying to go with you. Half of my friends aren't talking to me anymore and your house heaped abuse on me while I was waiting for you today."

Pansy looked stunned. "But why-"

"I don't care about any of it. I care about you."

Her eyes darted rapidly between the sugar bowl and the flower on the table, unable to focus on anything but certainly avoiding him. "I...I didn't... Everything that I was afraid of is happening to you," she whispered in horror.

"I don't care," he repeated.

"How can...I never thought that..."

They were interrupted most inopportunely by Madam Puddifoot (one of them, anyways – who could tell the three crones apart?) bearing their drinks to the table. Once they were alone again, Pansy sat mutely, twisting her napkin in her lap and looking uncomfortable.

"You look wonderful today, Pansy," he said, although she was a bit pale at the moment.

She seemed grateful to have an unrelated topic to fixate on. "Do you really think so?" she asked anxiously, plucking at her robes. "I wanted Irish lace on the bodice, but I can't crochet to save my life so I gave up and went to cutwork instead. Is it too cheap-looking? I wanted it to be opulent."

Neville goggled at her. "Wait. You...you made your robes yourself?"

"I want to use it as part of my portfolio. Daphne says she likes it, but she says that about everything. I swear she's got no taste at all."

"Like, you made the entire thing?"

"Well, I obviously didn't weave the fabric myself."

Neville looked over her robes as critically as he was able. Not a seam was out of place, and no raw edges were showing. The neckline rippled becomingly as it plunged, and the dusky pink fabric looked soft and expensive. There were tone-on-tone panels on the bodice with a pattern of leaves cut into them, which had to be what she'd been talking about a moment ago. "You've got a real talent," he observed.

"Of course I do," she said impatiently. "How else do you think I end up looking so much better than everyone else at school?'

"I often wondered, but I decided I was imagining things."

"You're not. The school robes are dreadful. I've altered mine and Daphne's."

"That's impressive."

"I guess. I'll tell the fashion houses if they ask, but I don't think I'll mention it otherwise."

"Fashion houses?" Neville echoed.

Pansy blinked. "You know, for...I must've..." A blush crept up her cheeks and she cringed. "Oh, this is embarrassing," she sighed. "I...oh, bugger. Since you stopped talking to me, I started imagining having conversations with you when I missed you."

"That's not embarrassing," Neville assured her. "That's sweet. I'm glad you told me. I missed you, too."

She smiled just a bit. "I'm – I've been quite awful to you, haven't I?"

"Yes."

"I wish I hadn't been. I'm much happier talking to you again like this." She cleared her throat. "Anyways, I've decided what I'm going to do with myself after school. I'm going to be a fashion designer!"

Neville grinned. In light of recent evidence, the decision was a natural one. "You'll be great. Are you apprenticing at Madam Malkin's, then?"

She made a face. "Please, you're making me ill. Luckily, mint is good for the stomach," she simpered, taking another sip of tea. "This is wonderful. Would you like to try some?"

"That's alright."

"London's not for me," she said. "Too conservative."

"Straight to Paris, then?" he joked...at least he hoped he was joking.

She snorted derisively. "Paris is where fashion goes to die," she declared. "_No_ new ideas come out of Paris these days. You go to Paris when your innovations have caught on and you crank out nothing but variations afterwards. There's too much competition there to risk having anything go over poorly. No, I'm thinking somewhere like Milan, or even a smaller market, somewhere exotic. At least Milan is elegant. I want to do elegant."

"Oh." He hadn't anticipated her moving so far away. The thought made him somewhat apprehensive. Maybe she wasn't as serious about it as she sounded. After all, last term she'd had notions of being a Healer.

"I'm boring you half to death, aren't I?" she giggled. "I'm sorry."

"I'm just happy to see you happy again," he said honestly.

"Come on now, you must've been up to _something_ while you were ignoring me, other than plotting with Blaise."

Neville snorted with mirth as Pansy waggled her eyebrows at him. "I suppose I have. Remember our Herbology project?" She nodded. "Professor Sprout is so keen on the results that she wants to publish them. We've been writing up a manuscript even though we're not sure where we're going to send it. She wants to publish as Longbottom and Sprout, but don't worry, I'm fighting to have you included as an author-"

"Why?" she asked idly.

"Because you helped to do the work, of course." The explanation was, in his opinion, quite unnecessary. Why wasn't she thanking him for his gallantry in the situation? It was bad enough that he had to try to reason with Sprout on the situation. "If you contributed to the project, you deserve authorship."

"I didn't contribute anything, really."

"Of course you did! You brewed the pain potion we needed to test our hypothesis-"

"Your hypothesis, you mean. And I just did what you told me."

"You sketched our hybrids."

"And you told me what the pictures meant. Besides, wouldn't you just put photos in instead?"

"Well, we probably will. But Pansy, you were a real help on the project. I want the paper to reflect that."

She looked amused by his earnestness. "Longbottom, I'd hate for people to get the impression that I know anything extraordinary about plants. That's you. I don't care about the thing you're writing. If you're really that intent on it, can't you just mention that I helped out a bit without signing my name to it?"

"An acknowledgement? I suppose..." It was what Sprout had suggested in the first place.

"Then it's settled. Now, did you get up to anything less nerdy than that?" she teased.

"Not really. Sprout's been excitable lately since-" Neville's stomach clenched suddenly. How could he have forgotten? Pansy was looking at him curiously; he'd trailed off abruptly. "Leskin van der Joon is coming to visit – she and Sprout go way back, and apparently she's got this smashing facility – she's thinking of taking me on as an apprentice Herbologist."

Pansy clapped her hands delightedly. "How wonderful! Just think, one day we'll both be famous! Well, I'll be more famous than you, but that's just how fashion is."

"Pansy," Neville interrupted gently. "Leskin's based in the Czech Republic."

She looked quizzically at him, and all he could do was stare mournfully back. Comprehension finally dawned in her eyes. "Oh." She was contemplative for a moment. "The Prague fashion scene is very experimental," she said finally.

"Really?" Neville asked, breathless with the possibilities that suddenly flooded his brain. The door to the establishment opened, the soft chime of the door mingling with the muffled shrieks of students outdoors. "Sounds like Natalie and Euan have started a full-blown snowball fight," he remarked wryly. He made a halfhearted attempt to see through the elaborate lace curtains beside him, but nothing was discernable. All he could tell was that the sun seemed even brighter now than it had been.

Pansy rolled her eyes. "How immature. We weren't half that ridiculous at that age."

Neville nodded in agreement and took a sip of his hot chocolate, which was more lukewarm than hot by now.

"This Czech thing is a great opportunity, right?" she asked casually.

"It really is. What about Prague?"

"I've seriously considered it," she said. "I thought it might be a bit too playful an atmosphere for me, but then again," she mused, reaching across the table to squeeze his fingers, "maybe I've been taking myself too seriously lately."

Neville's heart swelled with a mixture of happiness and pride, and a pleasant thrill ran up his arm from her touch.

"It would be pretty cool if we ended up in the same place, wouldn't it?" she mused.

Neville found that to be quite the understatement.

Bells jangled as the door to the tea-shop was thrown open. "Pansy!" someone cried. Neville turned in his seat to see a younger Slytherin dominating the doorway, her stance wide. "It's Violet! She's been attacked!"

Pansy shot out of her seat, her hand curling around her wand. "Who was it?" she growled, ready to wreak havoc.

"It was a creature!" the girl gulped. "She's down!"

The blood drained from Pansy's face and she shot forward after her housemate, who was fleeing the scene. A shiver ran up Neville's spine as he realised that the shrieks they had heard earlier had been fearful, not playful. He lurched to his feet, nearly upending the dainty table, and pounded after the girls with Pansy's forgotten muff. Students were milling uneasily in the street and prefects were already beginning to herd them back to Hogwarts. McGonagall was with Pansy in the dazzling snow when Neville spotted them. The Headmistress appeared to be restraining her. "…to Hogwarts immediately. We can use the Floo in the Three Broomsticks," she was saying to Pansy as Neville ran up to them.

"Yes," Pansy said automatically, starting in the right direction.

"Is there anything I can do?" Neville asked, alerting them to his presence.

They both turned. "Help the prefects get everyone back," McGonagall ordered. Pansy said nothing, but her lost expression was answer enough.

"I'll wait for you in the library," Neville told Pansy. She nodded. "I love you," he blurted.

Pansy and McGonagall reacted with equally startled looks, and then they were gone.


	11. Little Drops of Rain

**Chapter Eleven: Little Drops of Rain**

Accounts of the attack ran the gamut from absurd to patently absurd. A manticore had come out of nowhere! No, it was a werewolf in broad daylight! A vampire, actually! Hadn't anyone recognised him? It was an undead Sirius Black! The variety of theories Neville overheard at his station outside the library was stunning, but he hadn't joined in the conversations and was now amusing himself by flipping a Galleon between his fingers. He couldn't stop; if he did, he would wonder why he had seen Professor Lupin striding down the hallway.

Pansy rounded the corner. As soon as she spied Neville, she broke into a run and she was crying before she hit his arms. It broke his heart to feel the sobs wracking her thin shoulders, but all he could do was run his hands comfortingly along her back. There was nothing he could say - "Is she alive" seemed awfully grim, but "Is she okay" was obviously inane.

Finally, her tears abated a bit. "You're here," she said.

"Of course," he replied, hugging her more tightly.

"It's bad, Neville. Really, really bad. She was bitten," Pansy blubbed.

This was less than informative. "By what?"

"Werewolf!" she wailed, dissolving into a fresh crying spate.

"Well Pansy, that's impossible," Neville said reassuringly, rubbing circles on her back.

At that, she struggled violently out of his arms. "It's not!" she cried furiously.

"It was broad daylight, Pansy. Think back to third-year DADA-"

"It's new. They can transform anytime now. It's true!" she snapped.

"That's...I mean, I don't even see how..."

"It doesn't matter."

"I guess not. What's...uh, going to happen?"

"I don't know," Pansy whimpered.

"Well, if she was bitten by a werewolf, doesn't that mean...?"

"What are people going to _think_?" she cried suddenly.

"It's hard to say, given the new legislation. Hopefully, if she registers properly she'll be able to continue-"

"What will people think about _me_? Having a werewolf in the family?"

It was all Neville could do to not sigh in exasperation. "You'll be fine," he said coldly. "Actually, I'm appalled that you can even think about your reputation at a time like this."

"Those damned werewolves," Pansy spat, beginning to pace. Her dress robes fluttered and her tear-stained face was framed by her incongruously soft hairstyle. "No wonder the Ministry is after them. I'd love to take a few of them down, myself. I wonder if one can make a living hunting them."

"Like an Auror?" Neville asked wryly, balancing his Galleon on his palm.

"No, not like that. Something more specialised, with less bureaucracy."

"Well, they don't make any money doing it," said Neville, "but I know of at least two societies devoted to the ultimate safety of wizardkind who are very interested in werewolves at the moment. Actually," he added, holding the Galleon in front of his face, "I'm probably late for one meeting right now."

* * *

Hermione broke into a nervous grin as Neville entered the Room of Requirement. "There you are! Right then, I...uh..." She simply stared as Pansy stepped in beside him. The rest of Dumbledore's Army followed suit and regarded the Slytherin mutely, many with no small amount of suspicion. Others seemed confounded at the sight of the normally-polished girl in such a disheveled state. No one dared to move.

Luna broke ranks first and stepped forward with a friendly smile, her hand outstretched. Neville could've kissed the Ravenclaw. "Pansy," she said in low, dulcet tones. "I'm so sorry." So word was already out, then.

Pansy nodded tightly, her cheeks flushing to camouflage the tear-tracks.

Hermione glanced from Neville to Pansy. "Welcome, Pansy," she said formally. Pansy's eyes narrowed but she didn't do anything untoward. "As you all know," she began, looking over the assembly with an officer's trained eye, "a student was attacked this afternoon. Violet Parkinson has been bitten by a werewolf." Neville felt Pansy's fingers convulse around his.

The Army didn't take this news quietly. "That's impossible," Anthony pointed out immediately.

"How do you know?" Pavarti chimed in.

Hermione clapped her hands together for order and ran one hand over her hip. Neville spied a flesh-coloured string disappear further into her pocket. "This is the most accurate information available," she assured the populace. "It seems that the werewolves have somehow gained the ability to at least partially transform at will, not just on a full moon. It is uncertain what the ultimate fate of their victims is-" she glanced at Pansy helplessly, "but it is obvious that we must be prepared for other such attacks to occur in the future. I called this meeting so that anyone interested could help come up with effective means to combat hostile werewolves."

"Oh, come off it, Hermione," Terry scoffed. "Do you really think that this is the time to try to distinguish good monsters from bad ones?"

"I think," Hermione replied, with a touch of ice in her voice, "that at this time it is more important than ever to remain friendly with anyone who has not proven themselves an enemy." It was something Neville could imagine Dumbledore saying, and he felt the small hairs on his arms stand on end.

Ginny burst through the door. "Sorry I'm late," she panted, "I-" She froze when she caught sight of Pansy. "No," she said shortly, her features blank. "No way, Neville. Get her out of here."

"Pansy is our guest, Ginny," Hermione said with a meaningful look.

Ginny glowered. "Get over yourself, Widow Potter," Pansy snapped. The two girls snarled and lunged towards each other in unison, and Neville stepped hastily between them.

"Ginny, you're having a bad afternoon," he said. Behind him, Pansy snorted with obvious derision. "Pansy's sister was attacked by a werewolf. If anyone's going to leave, it's you."

Ginny stared at him in disbelief. "I...sorry about your sister, Parkinson," she finally said. Pansy ignored her.

Hermione cleared her throat. "We were about to discuss ways to combat werewolves."

An uncomfortable silence ensued. "What's wrong with the traditional shoving silver through their hearts?" Pansy sneered. "I'm buying a set of throwing knives the first chance I get."

"Okay," said Hermione politely, writing on a piece of parchment. "Good suggestion, Parkinson."

"I've got to wonder whether some of the active ingredients in Wolfsbane Potion have any deleterious effects when used in other combinations," Padma mused.

"Yes," said Hermione, sounding more encouraged. "Potions probably wouldn't be effective in a battle situation, but it's definitely worth looking into for other operations."

"There's got to be some useful spells that have just been lost, or were obscure to begin with," Ginny insisted. "Perhaps the Restricted Section or some old, private libraries have some information."

"Maybe." Hermione scribbled furiously. "Unfortunately, I've lost access to my private library."

"Runes have been used as protections in the past," Neville began slowly.

"That's true." More writing.

"Would there be any way to combine runes with spells to tip our hand past their natural magical resistance? Runic movements, perhaps?"

Hermione gazed shrewdly into the distance, her quill forgotten. "What about Flagration?" she said. "We could slash runes into the surroundings. Yes," she muttered, "that just might work."

"What about the application of even older magics?" Luna asked.

Pansy squeezed Neville's arm. "Thank you," she whispered in his ear as the ideas continued to fly thick and fast.


	12. Talking Like It's a Reflex

A/N: I probably should've mentioned earlier that I've written about the attack on Pansy's sister from Remus Lupin's point of view in another of my fics entitled "The Shadow Pack", if you're interested in the whodunit.

* * *

**Chapter Twelve: Talking Like It's a Reflex**

"There has to be a way to simplify the runes," Hermione said to Neville in a low voice as they left Ancient Runes, the final class of the day. "I'm going to scour the library and see if I can find something more comprehensive on the evolution of runic symbols. Surely they didn't just spring forth in their current incarnation."

Neville nodded. "I'm not going to be able to help you out today," he said in a tone that he thought sounded regretful. "I have to go and-"

"Neville?" It was Pansy. "Could I talk to you?" She turned to Hermione. "Alone?" she added, without malice.

Neville looked at Hermione, who raised her eyebrows at him. "Sure, Pansy," he said after he determined that Hermione wouldn't be offended.

"Oh, and Granger?" Pansy continued. "Would it be okay if I talked to you later about some stuff?"

Now Hermione's brows threatened to merge with her hairline as she blinked in surprise. "I suppose so."

"Great." She tugged on Neville's sleeve. "C'mon."

Neville waved smartly as he was dragged away to somewhere more private.

"They've sent her home," Pansy said, her voice flat. She wrapped her arms around herself and exhaled upwards, making her fringe rise. "They don't even have proof she's a…you know."

"Violet? I'm really sorry to hear that. Professor Lupin was allowed to stay through the course of his studies."

"Things were different back then, I guess. If she's okay, she'll have weeks of school to make up. If she's not okay…she'll never be let back in to Hogwarts." Her lower lip quivered and he immediately laid her head against his chest and began stroking her hair. "I'm so sick of crying," she said, swiping angrily at her cheeks before any tears could come. "It's all I seem to do these days."

"I'd cry too," he assured her.

"I try to read this ridiculous werewolf legislation and I get so frustrated. D'you think Hermione would help me understand it if I was nice to her?"

"I think so." He couldn't help but smile a bit.

"There has to be some benefit to being on speaking terms with a brainiac, right?"

Neville didn't feel safe answering that one. "I hate to do this, but I have to get going."

She glared up at him, her sadness momentarily forgotten. "You're not running off with _her_, are you?"

"Who?" he asked, taken aback by her sudden venom.

"Granger. I saw you two ready to leave together. Honestly, your girlfriend is a sodding mess and all you can do is-"

"I'm not." _Girlfriend_? "Leskin van der Joon is here. Her and Sprout are waiting for me."

"The Czech slag?"

"_Pansy_!"

"What?"

"You can't…that's completely uncivilised! You've never even met her!"

"I don't have to," she said petulantly.

"Look, she might be my new boss, so you'd better get used to having a higher opinion of her. I imagine you'll be in her company often if she takes me on."

At this, Pansy burst into tears. Neville was bewildered. Every time he thought he had plumbed the depths of her mood swings, she surprised him yet again. "I can't!" she sobbed, clutching his robes desperately.

"Can't what?" he asked, willing her to calm down.

"I can't go! I can't go with you and she's taking you away!"

"Why can't you go?"

"Oh, you didn't really think I'd be _happy_ in a place like Prague, did you?" she spat, extricating herself from his grasp with difficulty.

"I…what? Pansy, you're going to have to calm d-"

"Don't you _dare_ tell me to calm down!" she shrieked. "You would strand me in that horrid place just so you could be happy!"

"You don't like Prague," he said slowly. He decided to start with small conclusions, as the larger picture was evading him.

"Who could possibly like it there?"

"Well, me, I think. It sounds perfectly lovely."

"It sounds perfectly _boring_. There's _nothing_ interesting going on there fashion-wise."

"But…you said you wouldn't mind working there."

"Of course I said that! We were getting along so well!"

"So you lied?"

"It made you happy, didn't it?"

He sighed in exasperation. "Pansy, if you don't want to go to Prague, then please, don't."

"But you're going. We wouldn't be together then."

"I guess not." The thought depressed him.

Oh hell, she was crying again. "Do you remember what you told me on Valentine's Day?"

"That Prague was a great opportunity?"

She crammed her fist against her mouth and shuddered mightily, fighting off her sobs. "You said you loved me," she whispered when she was able to speak again.

He froze, every bit of his skin flaring to capture a sensation that couldn't possibly exist. She hadn't mentioned that until now, and he hadn't possessed the courage to broach the subject again.

"You did!" she insisted. Her voice sounded like it was coming from very far away.

He realised she was waiting for his confirmation. It was torture. What more did she want from him? He nodded slowly, his head feeling like it could roll off his shoulders, or possibly just float away.

She was beginning to hyperventilate. "Do you still love me now?" she asked, breathy and half-hysterical. "Even though I'm horrible?"

He didn't trust himself to speak, so he nodded again as his heart hammered wildly.

"Then why are you sending me away?" she whined, sounding very forlorn.

"I'm not sending you away. I just want you to be happy."

She reached out and touched his arm tentatively. "I'm not happy without you."

Neville wasn't sure who moved first, but suddenly they were in each other's arms again, simply holding on for dear life and trying to breathe normally. "Promise me something," he asked when he felt in charge of his faculties once more.

Her eyes were so full of...he didn't know what. Hope, maybe. "What's that?"

"Stop lying to me, okay? It just makes things worse every time you do it. I don't know if Malfoy taught you to lie to him, but you never have to lie to me. I'll listen to you. I won't get mad."

"I guess," she murmured, flushing.

"We can solve all our problems together," he promised boldly.

"Well, not all of them," she amended.

"What do you mean?"

"I'm pretty sure I'm not allowed to go with you to see this Herbologist you're trying to impress, and you're already late. That's a problem, isn't it?"

He released her abruptly. "Drat!"

"Hey, watch your language around a lady!" she cried in mock outrage.

"What happens if I get this thing?" he asked as he slung his bag over his shoulder.

"Then we've got a lot of problems to solve, don't we?" she asked, standing on her toes to give him a peck on the cheek. "Love conquers all, doesn't it?" she added lightly.

_Love_. Neville shuffled his feet, even more nervous and uncertain than he had been the first time the topic had come up. "Pansy..."

She swatted him square on the arse before he could formulate his question. "Get going already! Don't bollocks this up."

* * *

Neville heard peals of laughter from behind Professor Sprout's closed office door, and waited until they subsided before he knocked on the door. "Come in!" Sprout called, and Neville found her crowded around her desk with a woman who had to be Leskin van der Joon.

The stranger rose to her full height. "Ah, you must be Neville," she said in gently-accented English, confirming his suspicion. He had been prepared to be intimidated by the Herbologist, but he hadn't quite expected her imposing physical presence. She was as tall as he was and her long, loose hair was the colour of a copper kettle except for a streak of silver in front. "Leskin van der Joon. It's good to meet you."

"Nice to meet you too," Neville said as he shook her hand.

"Would you like a caramel wafer?" she asked, holding out a tin for him.

"They're wonderful," Sprout assured him, waving a half-eaten one. "I haven't had one since I was last in the Netherlands." She sighed in pleasure as she took another bite.

Neville took a sandwitch-sized treat and it was indeed wonderful. The caramel was gooey and sandwitched between thin, crisp wafers.

"My sister sends me Dutch treats regularly so I never feel homesick," van der Joon explained with a wry smile. "I remembered how fond Pomona had been of these." She took her seat, leaving Neville to lean against a filing cabinet. "So, should we get down to business? I read through your introduction and I think you've ignored Milo Trazini's contribution to the field back in the sixties."

"Trazini?" Sprout asked. "He worked on Gillyweed crosses back then."

"Only after his mostly-unsuccessful studies on Sootheweed," van der Joon replied, drawing some papers from her robes and tossing them on Sprout's desk. "But he did some characterisations you should at least mention, even if they're mostly irrelevant. Can't risk him getting grumpy over this."

Sprout snorted. "Has he ever not been grumpy?"

Neville tried to remain as still as possible during the exchange, hoping that he wouldn't draw their attention. He had little idea of what they were saying and didn't want his ignorance exposed. Did van der Joon expect him to be an active part of the conversation? He didn't know the names they were now dropping with impunity, and he hadn't thought to study up on van der Joon's work in any great detail.

"Where were you thinking of sending it?" van der Joon was asking now.

"I don't know. _PBHS_?"

At that, van der Joon pulled a face. "Not enough impact. Look, I'd rather you go to something like _Herbology Monthly_, but why not cut to the chase? Your findings will have a huge impact in the Potions field, and the only Herbology journal they read is _Acta_."

Sprout blinked in obvious surprise. "I don't think this is quite _Acta Herbologica _material, Leskin."

"Well, you'd have to lose a few thousand words," van der Joon allowed.

"After all that effort to make broader points on satyrphloem," Sprout sighed. "Neville did such a good job fleshing it out philosophically, too." She glanced at Neville apologetically and he stiffened as he realised they still remembered he was in the room.

"Murder your darlings," van der Joon said with a shrug. "How about this: if it somehow doesn't make it in on the first try – and I don't see how the discovery of a pain-deadener that doesn't interfere with consciousness wouldn't – you send some samples off to me and I'll get Lektvar to whip up something flashy with it. What do you think of a topical ointment, or maybe some hybrid potion? Painlessness and...Skele-Gro, perhaps."

"I never thought of something like that!" Neville burst out before he remembered that he was trying to hide in plain sight.

He immediately found himself targeted by van der Joon's light eyes. "Oh, yes. The implications of your hybrid are nearly endless. Make sure your patent is granted before you submit the paper."

"Patent?" Neville and Sprout said at the same time.

"Yes, patent," van der Joon said with a disbelieving laugh. "You don't want Potions masters profiting off your hard work while you get nothing, do you?"

"Never," Neville said a bit too quickly, thinking of the late Severus Snape.

The vehemence of his reply sent van der Joon into gales of laughter. "A man after my own heart!" she sputtered. "So tell me, Neville, what sort of research do you see yourself doing once you've left Hogwarts?"

Neville furrowed his brow and tried to look like this was something he'd thought of often before. Truthfully, his imagined future consisted mostly of him watering plants and cutting flowers to bring home to Pansy in Prague. "Well, I think my strengths right now are in cultivating existing plants, not creating new ones. But I'm interested in learning how to make hybrids, too," he added quickly.

He received an indulgent smile from van der Joon. "I don't expect students straight out of school to be able to create advanced hybrids," she said, "regardless of Pomona's teaching prowess. Do you have any thoughts on the applications of your future work? I work closely with a Potions master, which is why your choice to make a potion with your plant caught my attention. We do everything, really: medical applications, life improvement and general well-being, and even the occasional humourous potion. And of course, that's not all I do. We create and cultivate plants for other purposes, too. My Junior Herbologist has been working on this," she said, gesturing to a small pot Neville hadn't noticed before. She beckoned him closer and he peered inside the pot to see a tiny fern that didn't even clear the pot's rim. "Look under the fronds," she urged.

He reached out cautiously. As soon as he touched the healthy green appendage, the frond curled upward around his index finger. He gasped as he saw iridescent purple bubbles lining underside of the blades. "What is it?"

"You tell me," van der Joon replied.

"Well – it's some sort of Friendly Fern, obviously, but..." He grazed the small purple patches with his fingertip and the plant immediately released him and retreated.

"Flax and Sibyl's Lavender, backcrossed to the Friendly Fern many times."

There was purple on his finger where he'd touched the bubbles. "But dicots to a fern? I mean, how could...?"

She grinned. "Very carefully. He wants to transfer the enhanced spore capsules to the top of the blades so they burst as the fern grabs hold. They release concentrated flax and lavender essences, which gives health benefits and smells great, too. He's trying to think of a name to market it under."

"Leskin," Sprout broke in, "I know you must be getting hungry, even after the wafers. Would you like to eat at school, or would you prefer to go out to the neighbouring village?"

"That depends," van der Joon replied, turning back to Neville. "Could Mr. Longbottom join us in the village?"

"I don't see why not," Sprout said and Neville smiled.

"In that case, could we go now? I haven't eaten since breakfast, and I'd love to see a bit more of the countryside."

"Of course. Neville, will you be joining us?"

"Yes, please."

"Then let's go. Leskin, did I tell you that Neville's had a _Mimbulus mimbletonia_ for the last two and a half years?"

"Really?


	13. Respite

**Chapter Thirteen: Respite**

Pansy tugged at Neville's trousers. "Stand still!"

"Sorry," Neville muttered. It was hard when her eyes were level with his crotch.

She smoothed the material over his flanks. "Oh, this'll look great!" she assured him around a mouthful of pins, pulling one out to affix to his thigh. "I'm just going to take in this seam a bit."

"I dunno, Pansy. They're kind of tight already."

"They're not tight, it's just that all of your other trousers are too baggy." Neville sighed as Pansy continued to pinch the maroon fabric. "This is _such _a great workroom," she enthused. "It's a wonderful surprise! You shouldn't have blindfolded me, though. Now you'll have to tell me where it is so I can come back later without you."

"It won't be here. This is all just an enchantment." He didn't have the heart to tell her that they were in the same room the DA meetings were held in.

"Really? You did a _fantastic _job!" She finally stood. "Okay, doff 'em."

"Okay." He turned towards the privacy screen installed in the current incarnation of the Room of Requirement.

"You can do it here if you want," she said quickly.

"Oh. Um. That's alright." He could feel his cheeks burning.

"But you might stab yourself on the pins! I could help you."

"Really, I'll be okay."

"Be careful," she sighed, her lower lip protruding a bit in what Neville could swear was a pout. "Let me know if you need help," she added as he ducked behind the screen.

He managed to shimmy out of the trousers with only two scratches. Satisfied that he hadn't managed to draw blood, he slipped back into his old trousers, which looked frumpy and ill-cut by comparison. Maybe Pansy was right – his current slacks _were_ a bit large on him.

"I think Milan is going to love this," she bubbled as she set the trousers aside. "Now the robe, just one more time."

Neville obediently shrugged into the garment. "I really like the shoulders on this," he said for he fourth or fifth time. "But are you sure about the slits?"

"_Neville_," she said severely, "the free panels add drama and flourish."

'They're kind of-"

"If I sew them together now, you'll look like you're wearing a sofa cushion because of the way they're tapered." She sighed happily. "I wouldn't do it anyways. You look like a prince."

It beat looking like one of _Witch Weekly's _Wizard of the Week pinups. "Thanks. Maybe I'll wear it to graduation if it comes back in time."

"I hope it does. Okay, I'll finish the trousers tonight and then if I could just get a picture of you in them to send off?"

"Sure. Never thought I'd be a model," he quipped as he tumbled into the chintz loveseat by the wall.

"I take what I can get," Pansy grumbled, but her grin took the sting out of her words.

"Sit down already, would you?" Neville implored her after the clothing was safely stashed away. "You've been running around for over an hour, and I don't know how you can still be standing considering your shoes."

Pansy seated herself beside him with a flourish, throwing her feet up and over his lap. "They're actually quite comfortable," she said of her chunky platform heels. "There's just so much to _do_, you know? Applications, essays, revisions...I don't know how I'm going to pass all my NEWTs...."

"I'll make sure you pass Herbology," he assured her.

"And I'm not letting you get less than an E in Charms," she replied. "I just can't believe it's our last year. All this time, I'd wished I was out of school already and now that the end is actually coming, I don't feel ready to leave. Do you?"

Neville shrugged. "Things haven't really been the same for me this year with so many of my friends gone. I won't be too sad to leave. I'm ready to get on with things, and I'll be happy to study just Herbology."

"Won't you miss me, though?" she pressed.

"Of course," he said automatically. "But it's not like we won't see each other. We'll work something out."

"It won't be the same."

"Do you really want it to be the same? Spending half our time together studying?"

"I guess not. But it's nice seeing you every day." She sighed and snuggled closer to him. "I suppose I should feel lucky for even being able to finish school at all. Draco didn't. Millicent didn't." Neville silently added Harry, Ron, and Seamus to the list. And the Creevy brothers, Merlin hold them dear. "Greg never will," Pansy continued, her thoughts evidently straying in the same direction Neville's were. "I guess Violet won't either, now. Mum won't talk about it anymore and Vi won't answer my owls, so I really don't know what's happening to her besides the homeschooling. I think it's a bad sign to not hear anything like this, but it's not like I'd be able to help with anything in any case."

Neville twined his fingers with hers. "Just keep loving her. That will always help."

"I'll keep loving you, too," she vowed.

It was the unselfconscious way she said it that filled Neville with warmth. He had known going in that seventh year was going to be different than all the others, but he had gauged that difference in what he was losing, not what he was gaining. "I wish you could follow me to Prague," he admitted.

"Oh really?" she replied acerbically. "Well, _I_ wish _you_ could follow _me_ to...wherever it is I'm going. Sometimes I worry that no one will take me. I don't know what I'd do."

"You could always take a job at Madam Malkin's or Gladrags."

"Don't even joke about that."

"I wasn't jo-"

"I have no intentions of becoming a shop girl. It's degrading."

"All I'm saying is you should keep an open mind."

"That's easy for you to say. You had a plum job handed to you."

"Pansy," he began, exasperated, but she cut him off.

"I'm sorry. I guess I'm jealous. I wish I had someone in my corner like you have Sprout. I'm on my own."

"You've got your loyal menswear model at your disposal. Although I must confess I can't get you an in at a fashion house."

"You're a good model," she said grudgingly. "Except when you try to tell me how to make clothes."

"I was just making suggestions."

"It doesn't matter. I forgive you. After all, you made me this room." She leaned closer and Neville breathed in the scent of her shampoo. "Speaking of this room, we should put it to good use. I don't get to be alone with you very often."


	14. Pomp and Circumstance

**Chapter Fourteen: Pomp and Circumstance**

The Great Hall hadn't looked so magical to Neville since the first time he'd seen it nearly seven years ago. It had been more elaborately decorated at other times, but tonight the Hall radiated a quiet elegance.

"You look splendid, Neville," Augusta Longbottom said as she approached him in the Great Hall. Neville strode forward to meet his gran, and once they were together she stepped back again to take a more critical eye to his ensemble. "I don't remember this outfit."

"It was a gift," he told her. She raised her eyebrow. "You look nice too, Gran." She was dressed in chartreuse chiffon with her vulture hat perched at a jaunty angle.

"Thank you. It's nice to be back. Without taking classes, that is," she added with a wry grin.

"I don't think it's really sunk in that I'm done," he said. "That I'm done classes forever. Maybe it's because I know I'm going to be learning for a long time yet."

"Well, you'll have one last summer at home to relax. I've got a berry cobbler waiting for you when we get back." She looked over the crowd, which Neville knew was sparser than it should have been. He saw Professor McGonagall talking to Hermione and two conspicuously Muggle-looking people who had to be her parents. McGonagall pointed discreetly at the ceiling and the Grangers looked up in amazement. Hermione smiled at her parents' wonderment and let her eyes roam the room. Suddenly, her mouth dropped open in shock. "_Ron_!" she squealed, and sprinted across the Hall.

It wasn't just Ron standing in the entryway; from where Neville was standing, it looked like most of the absent seventh-years had returned and were now entering the Great Hall. He waved to Seamus, and then to Hannah.

"Well, it's a Christmas miracle," Pansy sneered from behind him. Neville and his gran both turned, and Neville could immediately see the hurt in her eyes as she glared at the incoming students. Of course, there were no Slytherin deserters returning to Hogwarts to congratulate the graduands. Neville couldn't pretend to be anything but happy that Malfoy was nowhere to be seen, but he knew how happy Pansy would be to see the git again.

His gran was staring at Pansy with distaste. "Gran, this is Pansy," Neville said hurriedly, before his girlfriend went off on a tear about how unfair the situation was. "Pansy, this is my grandmother."

"Augusta Longbottom," his gran said with a stiff nod.

"Pansy Parkinson," she returned with a small curtsy, suddenly a picture of girlish innocence. Neville privately thought it was probably too late for that act. "It's a pleasure to meet you."

His gran nodded again. "Well, Neville, I won't keep you from your friends. I'll just find somewhere to rest my feet."

"My parents are over there if you'd like to join them," Pansy offered graciously, jerking her thumb over her shoulder.

"I have business with the Boneses, actually," she returned tightly. "Thank you." She turned and strode off in the other direction. Neville resisted the urge to bury his head in his hands.

"Not very friendly, is she?" Pansy remarked.

Neville sighed.

The house-elves had outdone themselves on the banquet. Neville's chagrin at Pansy's meeting with his gran faded away as he caught up with friends over his meal. As Ron began to regale them with tales of Horcrux-hunting with Harry, Pansy, who had been eating in silence by his side, yawned conspicuously and made a show of ignoring him. When she was finished studying her nails and checking her makeup, she leaned in close to Neville's ear. "Do you think...?" She trailed off as an eagle owl landed on the back of her chair and thrust an ivory envelope in her face. "Finally," she muttered, tearing the envelope open.

"Malfoy?" Neville guessed, trying not to sound bitter at the prospect.

"Mmm-hmm," Pansy confirmed absently as she read. Without warning, she clapped her hand over her mouth and shrieked into it. Several students looked over at her, and Neville didn't know which possible situation was more distasteful: that she was purposely distracting from Ron's story, or that Malfoy's letter elicited such emotion from her. "The Quidditch World Cup!" she breathed when she'd recovered.

"What?"

"The Quidditch World Cup! We're going to the Quidditch World Cup!" she cried, her voice growing louder with every word. "He's got two extra tickets, and he gave them to me for graduation!"

"I didn't realise you were a big Quidditch fan," Neville said.

"It's in _Greece_, Neville," she said, as if that explained everything. Perhaps it did.

"And you want me to go with you?"

"Of course you're going with me!"

"I don't know if I'm going to be able, what with packing for Prague and all. Maybe you should take Violet instead?"

"I'm not sure that Vi's allowed to leave the country right now," Pansy said with a frown. "And you're going to have plenty of time to pack." Her eyes narrowed. "Do you not want to go?"

'Extra tickets' meant that Malfoy was already attending. Did Neville want to voluntarily spend time with Malfoy? Not at all. "It's just that I'm not a huge Quidditch fan. I mean, it's fun to watch and all but I don't really keep up with it."

"Who cares? _Quidditch World Cup_!"

"You've got to go, mate," Dean said from across the table, no small amount of jealousy in his expression. Neville noticed that no one was congratulating Pansy on her good fortune. "Australia's a shoo-in for the final and whether Morocco or Venezuela takes the semis, it's going to be a cracking match."

"And think of the spectacle!" Pansy added. "I'll bet we'll never see anything like it. And we'll be in Greece, and Draco will put us up somewhere nice...it'll be a great holiday before we buckle down to work."

"I can't imagine Draco wants me to join you," he said at last.

Pansy's jaw jutted forward. "He said right here that I can take whoever I want, and I want to take you. Don't worry about Draco. I can handle him. I did for two years."

The other occupants of the table exploded into laughter. "I couldn't believe it!" Ron continued. "Flat on his face! I said, 'Harry, mate, you just minced around in that hag's heels like a natural for an hour and a half, and now that you're back in your trainers you can't stay upright?' But seriously, he was brilliant. At that point, we had all the information we needed thanks to his disguise. Still, it was too bad we didn't have any Polyjuice Potion," he said with a small smile in Hermione's direction. She blushed and elbowed him in the ribs.

It was nearly like old times, except that Harry wasn't around to add to the story. It didn't seem fair that he should be stuck in St. Mungo's and absent from this celebration. He was sure that Pansy found it galling that only two of her housemates were here. It wasn't fair that only half of the class was graduating. Neville tried to put these thoughts out of his head and focus instead on the good things. All of his friends from his year were seated around this table. His gran was in the audience and proud of him. He'd be starting an apprenticeship under Leskin van der Joon in the fall, and Pansy would be at a fashion house in Vienna, not that far away, all things considered. And, of course, there was Pansy. When Professor McGonagall began to introduce the graduands and called his name, she clapped loudest of all.

**A/N: **This story will be succeeded by _The 423rd Quidditch World Cup, or Neville Wishes for the Patience of Angels._


End file.
